A Revelation in the Lion's Den
by Meabd
Summary: A series of violent crimes plague Central City, and it seems as if something big is on the horizon. Can Roy and Ed's bourgeoning relationship handle the strain, or will it all come crashing down?
1. Prologue

Al had the patience of a saint when it came to Ed. Not many people could handle his irritable, short tempered older brother the way Al could, but _honestly_ even saints had their limits. Eight weeks had passed since Edward had submitted to the life saving surgery that he's so vehemently opposed, much to Winry and Al's shock and pleasure. Eight _weeks_ of non stop complaining, sass and peevishness. Al understood, to a point, that cabin fever had set in and Ed just wasn't the kind of person that dealt well with being unoccupied. He sympathised with his older brother, he really did, but it wasn't coincidence that Al had started tutoring at his university every night to escape the invalid's ire.

That's not to say Ed was being left alone—Al was at his wits end, not a _monster_—because almost every night since the surgery, one Roy Mustang found his way to the Elric's dining room table for dinner. Al didn't quite know what to make of it at first. The conversation was always mundane; office drama of Mustang's, what Ed had read that day, etc. The tone, while not always affable, was never as strained as what it had been before the surgery. Al supposed he could chalk it up to his own interference, when he not so subtly threatened the General into talking sense to his older brother... but that didn't seem right either. The easiest answer was a romantic relationship, but Al was _not_ going to assume something like that without any evidence. They never touched one another, Al had seen no lingering looks, and General Mustang always left as soon as he helped with the dishes. Honestly, he didn't really care either way and _certainly_ didn't want to dwell on any romantic entanglements his brother might have. Ew.

Regardless of the nature of the relationship between his older brother and _much_ older superior officer, Al couldn't help but be rather pleased with the situation. The General was a pleasant man to be around, and his _being around_ meant that Al didn't feel as bad about actively avoiding his older brother during this... difficult period. Besides, at the end of the day he just wanted Ed to be happy—and if the subtle shine of contentment in his brother's eyes was to be trusted, Alphonse was pretty sure he'd found that happiness.


	2. Times of Trouble

Roy Mustang was a man accustomed to action. He hadn't risen through the ranks to the lofty office of General by sitting in his office doing paperwork all day, thank you very much. What he'd neglected to remind himself of, however, when reaching ever higher to ever loftier goals, was that humdrum was the norm, not the exception, of every high ranking officer's work life. This was generally regarded as a positive thing, of course, as the services of high ranking officers were typically only called for in times of danger, which Roy had had his fill of after the Promised Day. Even still, the General couldn't help but hope for someone or something to rise up and call his attention away from the endless stack of acquisition requests, requisition requests, leave requests and every other goddamn thing the bloated military required a signed permission slip for these days.

It was 1630 and the only thing on Roy's mind as he signed paper after paper was getting out of the godforsaken building and having a nice quiet night in with Edward. In the weeks that followed his surgery the two had fallen in to a nice rhythm of bickering over what to cook for dinner, hashing out the day's goings-on and parting ways after hours of basking in each other's presence. Things with Ed had developed surprisingly slow, with Roy having followed the younger man's lead of being relatively hands off. He wasn't sure if it was because Ed wasn't 'out' to Alphonse (though the knowing looks he'd been on the receiving end of made him think the younger Elric suspected what was going on) or if it was just Edward's general lack of experience that had them stuck in the no-man's land of chaste kisses and blue balls.

Roy didn't mind, he really didn't. It was honestly a dream come true, something he'd never dared to let himself imagine a scant two months ago. And honestly, getting to know the object of his affection outside of a professional setting was a good thing. Every new facet he discovered about Edward made him fall even harder for the young man, as saccharine as it might sound. And even though these revelations were fairly mundane—Roy now new his favourite colour _and _preferred food—they shed a bit of light on the enigma that is Edward Elric. While Roy was still waiting for Ed to open up about other, more serious things (he'd vowed to himself to murder whoever put those scars on his back) Roy was content to let Ed disclose that information in is own time.

"Sir?" Roy was startled by a knock at the door. His watch read 1650, with great trepidation he looked up from his paperwork.

"Hawkeye?" Riza stood in the open doorway, a troubled look on her face.

"There's a crime scene Fuhrer Grumman wants some input on... he asked for Edward but—" Roy waved a hand of dismissal.

"That's not possible. Can't they send over the photographs from forensics?" Riza's lips pursed, she slowly shook her head.

"The estimate is fifty dead, sir."

"Meet me at the entrance in five."

The crime scene was a disaster. Most were, but this was one of epic proportions. The warehouse itself wasn't out of the norm, if a bit small for the area. No, it was the sheer scape of the carnage that lent to the horror. It seemed as if every inch of the run down warehouse was slick with blood, from tough concrete floors to paint speckled walls; not even the sagging ceiling was spared. Lumps of flesh, some human and some animal, littered the area, with no rhyme or reason, and the only space that seemed even remotely untouched was the circular cage at the centre of the room. Roy understood why the body count was a hesitant fifty; the way the mismatched limbs were strewn haphazardly about it was nearly impossible to tell how many _complete_ cadavers they were looking at. One thing was sure: a chimera alchemist was afoot.

"We haven't gotten _any_ prints," a junior forensic officer complained, peeling his gloves off as he struggled up from his perch kneeling over a hand that was part human and mostly bird.

"You're kidding. Nothing? The _entire_ building?" Roy's tone was less than friendly, the technician shrugged.

"Nada. It's unheard of. Outside has plenty, sure, but there are no whole prints that are discernibly human inside. Either they were _very_ thorough, or it's some kind of alchemy thing... but you'd be the expert on that," Roy's brow furrowed. He knew of no such thing that could selectively destroy evidence like that. Then again, his area of study was rather narrow.

" Take the human parts and try to ID them. Check prints and see if we can't get a more accurate reading on casualties," Roy ordered the technician, motioning to put his gloves back on.

"Sir, I'm not sure all the phalanges are... human?" Roy pinched the bridge of his nose in a half-hearted attempt to stave away the headache he was sure to have.

"Then you can lift the animal prints, Corporal, and what you can't match via printing you can infer via alchemical lay lines. The lab will figure it out, just bag it." His voice sounds more confident than he felt, the young technician scrambled to relay his orders.

With as much conviction as Roy had barking orders, it's not _him_ that Grumman wanted on this case, he wanted _Ed_. Roy should have figured that sidelining Ed's leave request would come back to bite him in the ass; for all intents and purposes Edward Elric was still a fully functioning member of his team, and not laid up in bed after a major surgery. Goddamn paperwork.

Roy examined the mismatched bodies witch a detached, muted sense of dread. Even without an intimate understanding of chimera alchemy, Roy knew that these weren't the clumsy experiments of a fledgling alchemist; these were the products of a studied mind with years of experience. An altogether more terrifying thought. That being said, alchemy was not the end for these poor creatures, violence was. The ones left mostly intact had mortal wounds, none seemed to perish at the hand of faulty science... whether or not their violent end was a benediction or a curse Roy was not in a position to judge. A human torso skilfully blended with that of a lion still had a claw lodged in its throat... the nail was bloody at the end, suggesting an abrupt tear from the feline paw it was attached to. Roy bit his own thumb nail, trying not to imagine the pain the creature had felt as its appendage was torn.

Roy tore his gaze away from the viscera to examine the cage, alchemically created and hastily at that, at the centre of the warehouse. Oddly, there was no flesh _inside_ the cage, only blood. _Lots_ of blood. Underneath the claret Roy could make out the painted curves of an array, one that was more complicated than the General had ever seen before. Far beyond the scope of human transmutation, this circle had both modern and arcane elements. Roy felt a weight in the pit of his stomach; this was beyond his expertise. He couldn't call upon Ed for a second opinion —that was inconceivable —and getting Alphonse on the scene would raise more questions than he was comfortable answering.

The professional thing to do, the _smart_ thing to do, would be to damn his feelings and bring the expert in. The only problem was that the expert was on medical leave and wouldn't let such an insignificant thing as major surgery get in his way of ferreting out the truth.

Roy glanced at his watch. It was late, Ed was probably wondering where he was.

"Hawkeye, hold down the fort, I need to make a call," Roy really should've thought to do this before leaving the office, the audio on car phones were utter garbage. As the General stepped outside, he sucked in a breath of fresh air. He relished momentarily the lack of that cloyingly metallic taste that had settled in the back of his throat, nauseatingly sour and next to impossible to swallow around.

Roy slid in to the front seat of the black military issued car, grabbing the receiver and quickly dialled the Elric's. Barely one ring sounded before Ed started to berate him.

"Where the... you?" Roy could imagine the colourful expletive dropped by poor connection.

"Been an incident at work, I won't be able to make it tonight. I'm sorry love," the pause, while brief, was telling. Ed still wasn't used to terms of endearment.

"Is... okay?... alright?" Ed's voice was softer, not quite _concerned_ per se, but not as angry as before.

"Yes, yes, all good on the home front. I need to go, but I'll swing by for dinner tomorrow if I can," Roy heard Ed's broken voice indistinctly through the receiver as he hung up.

He knows he should have said something, he should have asked Ed's opinion or offered to come by with photos. He knows this. But he also knows _Edward_, and that stubborn, beautiful bastard wouldn't be staying on bedrest with something like this astir.

_I can't let Ed know._


End file.
